"No. I tell you a last time."

Careless of provoking Hiraga even more, he flared, "You saw what scum gai-jin are, drunk and revolting, fighting like beasts, carousing in the filth of Drunk Town--are these the men you want to know more of, to be like?"' "Go!"

As angrily he had collected his short sword and derringer. At Raiko's suggestion he joined the daily procession of servants leaving for Kanagawa market where the best sak`e and foods were purchased. With them he had passed through the Yoshiwara and Settlement barriers, the Enforcer patrol still lurking amongst the guards, making them as nervous as the villagers. Halfway to Kanagawa, the road traffic heavy, he had slipped away to the shore. There he had bribed a fisherman to row him to the far end of the Settlement, near Drunk Town, to hide him till dusk.

I am doing the correct thing, he thought with absolute conviction, the small sea wind scattering the night insects. The woman is the perfect target for sonno-joi. Whatever Hiraga says I may never have another chance to cast away her spell. Yes, I am in her spell. She must be a kami, a spirit, a wolf woman reborn gai-jin, no other woman could be virgin and drugged yet still be as welcoming, no other could make a man explode like I exploded, or keep me deranged with desire.

Tonight I will lay her for the second time. Then I will kill her. If I escape, karma. If I do not escape, karma. But she will die by my hand.

The sweat was running down his face and back.

Once more he concentrated, watching her through the crack, so very close that, but for the wall he could almost reach out and touch her. She climbed into bed, nightdress revealing. Now the maid turned down the oil flame to leave a warm glow of light.

"'nite, Miss'ee."

"'nite, Ah Soh."

Happy to be alone, Angelique snuggled down in the bedclothes, watching the flame shadows dance with the drafts, her head resting comfortably on her arm. Before Kanagawa the dark had never bothered her and she would go quickly into dreamtime to awake refreshed. Since Kanagawa her pattern had changed. Now she insisted on a night light. Sleep did not come easily.

Soon her mind took her into paths of wild surmise. Her hands would stray to her breasts.

Are they a little fuller than yesterday, my nipples more sensitive? Yes, yes they are, no it is just imagination. And my stomach?

Is it rounder? No, there's no difference and yet ...

And yet there is a vast difference, like B.c. and A.d. and at least once a day I wonder, would it be a boy or girl? Or devil, taking after the rapist father. No, no child of mine could be devil!

Devil. That reminds me today's Friday and in two days I have to go to church and confess again. The words get no easier. How I hate confession now and loathe Father Leo, such a fat, uncouth, tobacco-smelling and lecherous old man. He reminds me of Aunt Emma's confessor in Paris--the ancient Scot, smelling of whisky, whose French was as vile as his cassock. Lucky for me that neither she nor Uncle Michel were fanatic, just ordinary Sunday Catholics. I wonder how she is, and poor Uncle Michel.

Tomorrow I will speak to Malcolm...

Dear dear Malcolm, he was so nice tonight, so strong and wise and oh how I wanted him. So glad I can talk to him, so lucky for me that Aunt Emma refused to learn French so I had to learn English. How could she possibly survive in Paris all those years speaking only English, and what possessed Uncle Michel to marry her and endure such hardship? Though I love her and him, she so dowdy, he so ordinary.

Love! That's what he would always say and she would say and that they had met when he was in Normandy one summer vacation, she an actress with a travelling Shakespearean troupe, he a junior official. It was love at first glance, they would always say, and tell how beautiful she was and handsome he was. Then running away together, married within the week, so romantic but not so happy ever after.

But we will be, Malcolm and I. Ah yes, and I will love Malcolm as a modern wife should, we'll have lots of children, they'll be brought up Catholic, it won't matter to him, he's not fanatic either: "I'm really not, Angelique.

Of course we'll be married according to Protestant traditions, Mother will not have it otherwise, of that I'm certain. Afterwards we can have a Catholic ceremony, privately, if you wish..."

Never mind even if it's secret, it's the real marriage--not like the other--the children will be accepted into Mother Church, we will all live in Paris most of the year, he will love me and I will love him and we'll make love marvelously, she thought, her heart beginning to thump pleasantly as she let her mind roam. Deeper and deeper.

Then, because the evening had been wonderful and she felt wonderful and quite safe, she allowed the pleasing parts of that night's dream to return.

She could remember none of it exactly. The outrage dissolved pictures within erotic pictures within erotic pictures. A little burning that became a pervading warmth. Knowing but not knowing. Feeling but not feeling strong arms embracing, and being possessed by a never-before-experienced sensuality and openness, head, body, life, gloriously free to abandon all restraint, to relish everything because it was... just a dream.

But did I awake, or almost awake, and only pretend that I didn't, she asked herself again and again, always with a shudder. I could not have responded that wantonly awake--surely not--but the dream was so strong and, in its grasp, I was driven by a tempest to want more and again more and...

She heard the outer door open and close and then the bedroom door latch moving and whirled to see Andr`e open the door silently and close it silently, bolt it, and lean against it, a mocking smile on his lips.

Suddenly she was afraid. "What do you want, Andr`e?"

For a long time he did not answer, then came over to the bed and stared down at her. "To... to talk, eh?" he said softly. "We should, eh?

Talk, or, or what?"

"I don't understand," she said, understanding too well, painfully aware of the disturbing glitter in his eyes where only a few minutes before there had been only compassion. But she kept her voice reasonable, cursing herself that she had not barred the door--never a need here, always servants or Legation staff about and no one would dare enter without permission. "Please, don't y--"

"We should talk, about tomorrow and be, be friends."

"Dear Andr`e, please, it's late, whatever it is can wait until tomorrow, sorry but you've no right to come in here without knock--" In momentary panic she retreated to the other side of the bed as he sat on the edge and reached for her. "Stop or I'll scream!"

His laugh was soft and barbed. "If you scream, dear Angelique, that will bring the servants and I will unlock the door and tell them you invited me here--you wanted privacy to discuss your need for money, cash money, for your abortion." Again the mocking twisted smile. "Eh?"

"Oh Andr`e, don't be like that, please leave, please--if someone were to see you, please."

"First... first a kiss."

She flushed. "Get out, how dare you!"

"Shut up and listen," he whispered harshly and his hand caught her wrist and held it in a vise, "I can dare anything, if I want more than a kiss you'll give it to me happily or else.

Without me you'll be found out, without me--"

"Andr`e... please let me go." As much as she tried she could not break his grip. With a twisted smile he released her. "You hurt me," she said, near tears.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said throatily, his voice sounding strange to him and he knew he was insane to be here and doing this, but he had been caught up in such sudden horror that it had overpowered his reason, his feet carrying him here of their own volition, to force her to--to what?